The face,
as it showed under the glass, was not disagreeable to
look upon: it bore a faint smile, and as the death
had been painless, had not been distorted beyond the
repairing power of the undertaker. At two o'clock
of the afternoon the friends were to assemble to
pay their last tribute of respect to one who had
no further need of friends and respect. The surviv-
ing members of the family came severally every
few minutes to the casket and wept above the placid
features beneath the glass. This did them no good;
it did no good to John Mortonson; but in the pres-
ence of death reason and philosophy are silent.
As the hour of two approached the friends began
to arrive and after offering such consolation to the
stricken relatives as the proprieties of the occasion
required, solemnly seated themselves about the
room with an augmented consciousness of their im-
portance in the scheme funereal. Then the minister
came, and in that overshadowing presence the lesser
lights went into eclipse. His entrance was followed
by that of the widow, whose lamentations filled the
room. She approached the casket and after leaning
her face against the cold glass for a moment was
gently led to a seat near her daughter. Mournfully
and low the man of God began his eulogy of the
dead, and his doleful voice, mingled with the sobbing
which it was its purpose to stimulate and sustain,
rose and fell, seemed to come and go, like the sound
of a sullen sea.
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